Resurgam

Lo, now comes the April pageant

And the Easter of the year.

Now the tulip lifts her chalice,

And the hyacinth his spear;

All the daffodils and jonquils

With their hearts of gold are here.

Child of the immortal vision,

What hast thou to do with fear?

When the summons wakes the impulse,

And the blood beats in the vein,

Let no grief thy dream encumber,

No regret thy thought detain.

Through the scented bloom-hung valleys,

Over tillage, wood and plain,

Comes the soothing south wind laden

With the sweet impartial rain.

All along the roofs and pavements

Pass the volleying silver showers,

To unfold the hearts of humans

And the frail unanxious flowers.

Breeding fast in sunlit places,

Teeming life puts forth her powers,

And the migrant wings come northward

On the trail of golden hours.

Over intervale and upland

Sounds the robin's interlude

From his tree-top spire at evening

Where no unbeliefs intrude.

Every follower of beauty

Finds in the spring solitude

Sanctuary and persuasion

Where the mysteries still brood.

Now the bluebird in the orchard,

A warm sighing at the door,

And the soft haze on the hillside,

Lure the houseling to explore

The perennial enchanted

Lovely world and all its lore;

While the early tender twilight

Breathes of those who come no more.

By full brimming river margins

Where the scents of brush fires blow,

Through the faint green mist of springtime,

Dreaming glad-eyed lovers go,

Touched with such immortal madness

Not a thing they care to know

More than those who caught life's secret

Countless centuries ago.

In old Egypt for Osiris,

Putting on the green attire,

With soft hymns and choric dancing

They went forth to greet the fire

Of the vernal sun, whose ardor

His earth children could inspire;

And the ivory flutes would lead them

To the slake of their desire.

In remembrance of Adonis

Did the Dorian maidens sing

Linus songs of joy and sorrow

For the coming back of spring,—

Sorrow for the wintry death

Of each irrevocable thing,

Joy for all the pangs of beauty

The returning year could bring.

Now the priests and holy women

With sweet incense, chant and prayer,

Keep His death and resurrection

Whose new love bade all men share

Immortality of kindness,

Living to make life more fair.

Wakened to such wealth of being,

Who would not arise and dare?

Seeing how each new fulfilment

Issues at the call of need

From infinitudes of purpose

In the core of soul and seed,

Who shall set the bounds of puissance

Or the formulas of creed?

Truth awaits the test of beauty,

Good is proven in the deed.

Therefore, give thy spring renascence,—

Freshened ardor, dreams and mirth,—

To make perfect and replenish

All the sorry fault and dearth

Of the life from whose enrichment

Thine aspiring will had birth;

Take thy part in the redemption

Of thy kind from bonds of earth.

So shalt thou, absorbed in beauty,

Even in this mortal clime

Share the life that is eternal,

Brother to the lords of time,—

Virgil, Raphael, Gautama,—

Builders of the world sublime.

Yesterday was not earth's evening

Every morning is our prime.

All that can be worth the rescue

From oblivion and decay,—

Joy and loveliness and wisdom,—

In thyself, without dismay

Thou shalt save and make enduring

Through each word and act, to sway

The hereafter to a likeness

Of thyself in other clay.

Still remains the peradventure,

Soul pursues an orbit here

Like those unreturning comets,

Sweeping on a vast career,

By an infinite directrix,

Focussed to a finite sphere,—

Nurtured in an earthly April,

In what realm to reappear?

Easter Eve